The Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey [63]
“You have the advantage of us,” Larad admitted bleakly. “We will retire and send the tithe.” He was about to wheel when Meron pushed forward, his face wild.
“We tamely submit to their demands? Who is a dragonman to order us?”
“Shut up,” Larad ordered, grabbing the Nabolese’s arm.
F’lar raised his arm in an imperious signal. A wing of blues appeared, carrying Meron’s would-be mountaineers, some bearing evidence of their struggle with the southern face of Benden Peak.
“Dragonmen do order. And nothing escapes their notice.” F’lar’s voice rang out coldly.
“You will retire to your Holds. You will send proper tithing because we shall know if you do not. You will then proceed, under pain of firestone, to clear your habitations of green, croft and Hold alike. Good Telgar, look to that southern outer Hold of yours. The exposure is acutely vulnerable. Clear all firepits on ridge defenses. You’ve let them become fouled. The mines are to be reopened and firestone stockpiled.”
“Tithes, yes, but the rest . . .” Larad interrupted.
F’lar’s arm shot skyward.
“Look up, Lord. Look well. The Red Star pulses by day as well as night. The mountains beyond Ista steam and spout flaming rock. The seas rage in high tides and flood the coast. Have you all forgotten the Sagas and Ballads? As you’ve forgotten the abilities of dragons? Can you dismiss these portents that always presage the coming of Threads?”
Meron would never believe until he saw the silver Threads streaking across the skies. But Larad and many of the others, F’lar knew, now did.
“And the queen,” he continued, “has risen to mate in her second year. Risen to mate and flown high and far.”
The heads of all before him jerked upward. Their eyes were wide. Meron, too, looked startled. F’lar heard R’gul gasp behind him, yet he dared not look, himself, lest it be a trick.
Suddenly, on the periphery of his vision, he caught the glint of gold in the sky.
Mnementh, he snapped, and Mnementh merely rumbled happily. The queen wheeled into view just then, a brave and glowing sight, F’lar grudgingly admitted.
Dressed in flowing white, Lessa was distinctly visible on the curved golden neck. Ramoth hovered, her wing-span greater than even Mnementh’s as she vaned idly. From the way she arched her neck, it was obvious that Ramoth was in good and playful spirits, but F’lar was furious.
The spectacle of the queen aloft had quite an effect on all beholders. F’lar was aware of its impact on himself and saw it reflected in the faces of the incredulous Holders, knew it from the way the dragons hummed, heard it from Mnementh.
“And, of course, our greatest Weyrwomen—Moreta, Torene, to name only a few—have all come from Ruath Hold, as does Lessa of Pern.”
“Ruatha . . .” Meron grated out the name, clenched his jaw sullenly, his face bleak.
“Threads are coming?” asked Larad.
F’lar nodded slowly. “Your harper can reinstruct you on the signs. Good Lords, the tithe is required. Your women will be returned. The Holds are to be put in order. The Weyr prepares Pern, as the Weyr is pledged to protect Pern. Your cooperation is expected—” he paused significantly—“and will be enforced.”
With that, he vaulted to Mnementh’s neck, keeping the queen always in sight. He saw her golden wings beat as the dragon turned and soared upward.
It was infuriating of Lessa to take this moment, when all his energy and attention ought to go to settling the Holders’ grievance for a show of rebellion. Why did she have to flaunt her independence so, in full sight of the entire Weyr and all the Lords? He longed to chase immediately after her and could not. Not until he had seen the army in actual retreat, not until he had signaled for the final show of Weyr strength for the Holders’ elucidation.
Gritting his teeth, he signaled Mnementh aloft. The wings rose behind him with spectacular trumpetings and dartings so that there appeared to be thousands of dragons in the air instead of the scant two hundred Benden Weyr boasted.
Assured that that part of his strategy was proceeding in order,